


The Boy

by poptod



Category: The War at Home
Genre: Abuse - Neglect, Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Character, Emotional, Emotionally Repressed, Fluff and Angst, M/M, could be read as an x reader, minor homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 19:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poptod/pseuds/poptod
Summary: A boy comes into town, and he leaves, but in that time he finds a home.





	The Boy

**Author's Note:**

> i literally cant believe im writing this i hate myself so much. anyway i have a huge crush on this guy and... i thought itd be nice to write this. also im SO SORRY ABOUT HOW LONG THIS IS!!! Yikes!!!!!!!! Sorry!!

_Talk to me._

_Open up._

_I’m here for you._

He knows that.

_Man up._

_Stop crying._

_Leave all that mushy worry behind, it’s not manly._

He knows that too.

He’s heard every bit of advice possible to give to him. No matter what, he can’t stop sticking out. It’s probably a multitude of things, he decides, looking at himself in the mirror - the scar on his face, the way he acts, the way he talks to himself. How he pays no mind to his surroundings. His parents say he has autism, or ADHD; he knows it’s just a piss poor excuse for his terrible behavior that he can’t seem to correct. Behind closed doors they used to get angry at him, yelling, screaming, wondering why he can’t seem to act normally.

None of it gets too far under his skin, to his own fortune. He doesn’t stay up at night asking himself why he does these things. He doesn’t sit in class fantasizing what it’d be like if he was normal. Nor does he ignore his family at dinner in favor of wondering if he’s really all the terrible things people tell him he is.

There’s really only one thing that bothers him, and it’s not injustice against himself, it’s injustice against others - that burrows deep, hiding itself in the cavities of his mind, gushing with negative thoughts and the near primal urge to protect the victim.

This issue, jumping to protect, was something his parents also blamed on his fake mental disorders. It’s also caused them to have to move a few times due to mounting pressure, something his parents are never too happy about, and at this point, they move for the tiniest reason. Better houses, mom has a job elsewhere, dad doesn’t like the weather during the winter. He’s never anywhere for more than a year, though the shortest he’s stayed in a place is two months.

It’s easier for him to be quiet. In order to stop his incessant talking to himself he avoids talking overall - in class he’s silent, with his family, speaking when spoken to. It’s another part of his life he’s gotten very used to, and without it, he isn’t sure if he’d still be living with his parents. They might’ve given up on him and moved without telling him long ago.

He tries not to think as he enters another new classroom. It’s a nice one, really, it is, complete with a freshly cleaned blackboard, beautiful windows overlooking a grassy field and a teacher wearing a pencil skirt with a flowing blouse. She smiles at him as he passes and in courtesy he smiles back. It feels like a trait entirely his own to be nice - others his age haven’t seemed to grasp the concept that being nice can get you places.

In order to avoid attention he doesn’t sit in the back of the class, nor in the front. He doesn’t sit right next to the windows or next to the wall with the door, instead he sits in the middle, more towards the back, more towards the windows, but not direct in their path. It’s practically the perfect spot to avoid attention.

There’s a boy in front of him. There’s a boy behind him too, and to his left, and a girl to his right, but the boy in front of him has tan skin and dark curls, and his jawline is sharp, but he doesn’t act like he’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Actually, this boy acts very shy, and he doesn’t talk much in class. He wishes he could’ve gotten the boys name, wishes he could speak to him, but he can’t, and the boy doesn’t turn around to initiate the conversation.

Stay quiet, he says to himself. His parents don’t know he’s bisexual, and it’s not something they need to know.

Class passes without incident. He is not introduced, as per his parents request, who want him out of the spotlight, as any attention upon him always turns disastrous.

“I like your sticker,” a boy says in passing. Not the boy from before, this one is stockier with pale skin, and he’s got a goofy grin like he’s just seen his best friend after many a month without them.

He looks down at his binder, to the one thing that gives off anything to identify him - a Lord of the Rings sticker that’s just the ring. Easily identifiable as a plain, gold ring, something easy to write off as a simple decoration. To the trained eye, they could see the writing in darker gold upon it.

He doesn’t say anything but he nods and smiles, and the boy seems to be confused at this.

“Shy, huh? That’s alright, it takes some getting used to, this school. You’re new, right?” He asks, walking with him as he leaves. He appreciates it actually, hardly anyone approaches him. The only real socialization he’s gotten in months has been from his parents and it’s hardly healthy interactions.

“My name’s Larry by the way. You’ve got a name?”

He raised his binder, pointing to the name on the top right.

“Oh, cool. Nice t’ meet you. I’ll see you around,” Larry says and he leaves for the next class.

He smiles to himself, but he keeps the expression low level. People get freaked out when he makes facial expressions with no one to talk to. He’s never understood that, not really, it’s only second nature for him to react to the thoughts in his head. It’s why he tries not to think too hard when he’s in public.

The boy from before is in his fourth class of the day, but no others. This time he’s sitting far away from him, in the top far right of the class, while he sits in his usual area, unintroduced in the bottom middle left of the class. From this angle he can see the boy better, the outline of his face clear and not taken from glances when the boy turned to the side. From here, he can see the full side profile, and if he stayed still he could draw it. He’s not good at art but he’s not bad at it - that is to say he can’t seem to develop his own style. It’s realism mostly, but it’s not good enough to be able to identify who it is.

By the end of the day he’s feeling as though he’s socialized enough. Larry waved at him during lunch and that was all he needed to feel ready to curl up at home, safe in his own room doing homework and watching stupid movies. To his own dismay and excitement Larry approaches him after school, the boy from before beside him. This seems to be the first time the boy from before notices him.

“Hey! Me n’ Kenny are gonna do a Lord of the Rings marathon this weekend, extended edition,” he adds excitedly, his expression giddier than he’d ever seen anyone. His gaze flickers between the two boys, measuring the two of them up. To him, they could be trouble, another reason to move, another reason to be sad for the eventual move.

Instead of giving it proper thought he nods. His parents wouldn’t care. They wouldn’t care if he disappeared for days. It was good for sneaking out, but not good when he hadn’t eaten in several days because no one bothered to keep the fridge stored and no one gave him any money.

Nevertheless, Larry looks excited. He assumed that the two of them were probably good friends, excited to have another person to watch stupid movies with. He didn’t actually think they were stupid, but whenever he thought about them, he called them stupid. It’s what everyone else called them, and he couldn’t afford a slip of the tongue.

Every day passed as the last did, and none felt closer to the weekend. Generally he didn’t count by weekdays and weekends. For convenience he counted in test dates, when assignments were due, appointments with teachers in subjects he struggled in. It helped him to stay on track, on schedule, in a situation where he had no help to do so.

Each day Larry would approach him, sometimes simply waving to him at lunch, others time attempting a conversation. Each time he had nothing to say, but he kept his eyes away from the boy. At this point he had assumed the boys name was Kenny, though he had no way of knowing for sure.

No matter how many times he saw him, it always surprised him how he moved. It was graceful in a way of stars falling from the sky and crashing into the earth. He was beautiful in the way that dried flowers are, pressed in their eternity in pages of empty books. Written along his face were poems, written by high schoolers, not by high poets - full of energy and at the same time tiredness, passionate and wonderfully emotional, with no deep, saddened meaning behind the eyes. Only secrets. No appointed meaning.

He liked that.

On Friday Larry approaches him once more after school, offering to give him a ride to his house. He nods, having no other way of knowing where Larry lived, and assuming that the movie watching was that day.

“So do you prefer Star Wars or Star Trek?” Larry asks, sitting in the front seat of the car as he sat in the back, beside Kenny, who is pointedly staring out the window. He looks from Kenny to Larry, shrugging. He likes both, partial to Star Trek, as it gave a more hopeful future for humanity, filled with an eternal peace and a want to explore, not conquer. But he didn’t mind either.

“Personally I prefer Star Wars.”

Teenage boys often do, he thought. Mostly because the awesome battle scenes and iconic lines.

Throughout the rest of the ride he asked him questions, never getting a physical answer, and he was sure that at some point he was beginning to annoy Larry. Still, this was what he had to offer. If he opened his mouth he wouldn’t know when to stop, and according to his mother, it was really irritating when he started talking. He assumed it was simply the sound of his voice, which he knew would be even worse with the lack of use.

His parents were a stereotypical straight, middle aged, suburban couple, something he had expected. They acted half like they hated each other, but sometimes they seemed like they really did like each other despite the insults. He payed them little mind, shaking their hand with a polite smile.

“Can’t he talk?” He hears the father say as the three of them walked upstairs.

“Shut up!” He hears the mother say.

“So this is my room, you can just drop your bags off here,” Larry says, opening the door and walking in, interrupting whatever he could’ve been thinking about his parents’ words. Both boys let their bags flop to the floor carelessly, but he set his down, not wanting to damage the binder he’d kept so diligently with him. It had the only real personal item he owned - the sticker, which had apparently, gained him two friends.

“We’ve got food prepared and we can order pizza or something,” he continues, his awkwardness seemingly catching up with him as he lost any idea of what to do.

He observes the room. Minus the tension, it was well loved, and it was obvious both boys considered it a sort of a home. To him, it felt more like a messy hole, ripe with the stench of puberty, covered in dirty socks and nerdy memorabilia, but he couldn’t say he minded. He admired some of the things he had. With the silence that had come over the room he turned his attention back to the awkward tension, deciding that a few words from him might break it. If anything, it’d raise questions, and that always seemed to make people less nervous.

“Nice lightsaber,” he comments, gesturing with his eyes to the two lightsabers leaning against the closet door. Both boys’ eyes go wide, surprised at both the comment and the actual speech.

“You do talk!” Larry blurts out thoughtlessly, realizing within a second that he probably shouldn’t have said that.

He nods, shrugging again. There wasn’t much to say. Yes, he could talk, but it wasn’t often.

“Um - let’s get downstairs and start the movie!” Larry says with a laugh, a goofy one, cracking with his voice. He practically runs down the stairs, leaving him and Kenny alone in the room, confused.

Kenny doesn’t say a thing. He hasn’t ever heard him talk, and it’s high time he thinks. He barely ever talks and now this boy has heard his voice before he’s heard his. Kenny doesn’t share the same sentiment, charging after his friend, unwilling to be stuck in the same room as him.

He sniffs, following with quieter footsteps down the stairs.

The couches are small and pretty ugly, but he doesn’t comment. He doesn’t comment on the scratchy material either, or the fact that the two friends sit so close together there’s barely any space, or the fact that there’s three different couches in the room and each of them could lounge. He doesn’t say a thing, but he does make an appreciative smile for the popcorn that his mother makes a third of the way through the first movie.

“We’re gonna be here for a while, so you should probably tell your mom,” Larry adds when the movie finishes, as if he didn’t already know that. He doesn’t move from his position. He doesn’t need to. His mother doesn’t care. Both Larry and Kenny wait for him to move, but still he doesn’t, so the both of them look awkwardly at each other and start the next movie.

By the time the second movie is finished it’s well past midnight and Larry is fast asleep, leaning against one of the throw pillows. He and Kenny sit and watch the credits, waiting for the other to make a move. Once the music changes, Kenny finally breaks.

“I’ll - I’ll get the next one,” Kenny mumbles, eyes downcast and hiding from his own. He can’t seem to help himself, staring as he moves from the couch, getting up to replace the discs in the appropriate media. He knows he shouldn’t think, but he finds himself equating his behavior to his bursting out in speech and laughter whenever he thinks too deeply. He can’t help it, he desperately wishes he could, he _knows_ this time that it’s weird unlike all the times before. He can sense how hot Kenny feels under his stare and still he doesn’t stop, watching in practical awe at the way his shirt fits him, how beautiful his eyes are, how his hair has gotten even curlier as he continued to run his hands through them during the long night.

When the movie starts he looks away.

The marathon ends at four A.M.

Neither he nor Kenny know exactly what to do with themselves. To be honest, he thought he’d be asleep by now, he hadn’t expected to stay awake simply because the boy sitting across from him was too beautiful to miss any moment of. Again, Kenny makes the first move, and he’s appreciative in a way he can’t express, but it shows in the exhale of his chest, and the relaxation of his muscles.

“Larry, wake up. You slept through like half the movies,” Kenny laughs, shaking his friend awake, ignoring the way he continues to look at him.

“Wait, really? Damn… why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I tried a few times, didn’t work. So I just let you sleep.”

The two of them had a banter he admired, and he thought of how long it must’ve taken of them knowing each other to know each crack and corner of the other person. He tried not to think on it too long.

“You can stay the night if you like, you pretty much already have,” Larry chuckles, ruffling out his hair and stretching his arms. He nods and smiles gratefully, knowing it was quite a walk back to his house. He didn’t remember the address but he had it written in his binder, along with every other address he’d ever had.

“Where do you live anyway? If it’s not too far you can walk,” he suggests after the three of them had already walked up the stairs, him rifling through his backpack for some pen and paper to write an idea down, the two friends looking for respective pajamas.

He doesn’t answer but he pulls out his binder, opening it to the last page. There, starting from the very last line, is every address he’s had, and it covers the whole page. At the bottom of the next page is his current address and he points to it.

The first thing to come out of Larry’s mouth is, ‘woah.’ Then, a question.

“What are all these addresses?”

It prompts Kenny to come over from his looking, and his eyes widen along with Larry’s at the sheer amount of them.

He taps his current address again.

“Yeah that’s kinda far from here,” Larry finally says, knowing the town inside and out. He nods, and in a moment he’s given a clean toothbrush and told that there’s no pajamas and that he’ll have to either sleep in his underwear or in his clothing. He doesn’t mind either way, he never has. These kinds of things don’t bother him. He bases it purely after how warm it is, and it’s not that warm, so he keeps them on, climbing into a sleeping bag and wondering to himself how he got into a position such as this.

He’s never _had_ a sleepover before.

It’s not all bad.

In the morning, the three of them have cereal and discuss the different characterizations of Legolas in the books versus the movies.

It’s not bad at all.

They don’t ask when he’s going home. Larry’s parents don’t wonder about his mother and father, they don’t ask to meet them.

It’s good.

He leaves in the afternoon but he keeps the memory. According to his father, it’s rude to overstay a welcome, even if the people insist it’s alright, which he’s never understood. If it’s rude to stay so long, then why do they offer it? Why say no if it’s something both people want? Still, he obeys, knowing that his father knows best when it comes to societal rules.

When he returns home, his parents don’t say a word. They don’t react with disappointment or surprise, nor happiness, they do not acknowledge that the door has opened. They hardly acknowledge each other at this point, their noses buried in their own activities, never looking up to laugh or share. For the rest of the day he stays in his room, and he thinks, and he creates, and he talks.

Quietly, but he talks, and it’s a step forward for him, though he doesn’t seem to think so himself.

Sunday passes by but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He keeps creating in the silence of his room, and the silence downstairs, crowding the house and filling every space empty and filled has become the norm. Noise seems to be sin eradicated from a kingdom of holy cleanliness, and it can’t be brought back.

It’s a jarring change to head back into school on Monday, when everyone is talking too much, and it overloads his senses - the teacher can’t get a single word in with all the noise that the students are making. She yells over the top of them and it gets to be all too much for him and he stands, but in the chaos, no one pays attention to him. He walks to the front and without word he walks out the door, he can’t stand it anymore, the noise is too much and he can’t sink himself into the ground. Sweat runs up his spine and drips all around him, crowding the air with a thick stench that only he can smell.

“Get back here!” The teacher yells but he doesn’t understand her. He hears, dear God he hears, he hears too much, it’s all too much, but he can’t make out the words. He can’t understand what she’s saying, what she wants, and he leaves further down the hallway.

It grows quiet and the stench fades.

He hears footsteps, but it’s not too much. Not yet.

“Are you alright?” Kenny asks and his voice is quiet, soft as the fuzz off a honeybee and as warm as the sun that shines upon it. He sinks to the ground, his back against the blue and grey lockers.

“It’s so loud,” he can hear himself say, but he doesn’t consciously think of the words. They spill out of his mouth in a whine, a near cry and he shuts his eyes, gripping at his hair tightly and pulling.

“I, uh… should you go to the nurses office?”

Kenny has no idea what to do, but neither does he. He’s never attracted attention like that before. He’s never been on such an overload like that before.

Instead of words, this time it’s tears, and Kenny is at an even greater loss. Neither has dealt with the intensity of emotions spilling out of him, both not wanting this and both helpless. Kenny thinks that maybe adults will have an idea, but he knows that they won’t. They’ll send him home for breaking down in class, and berate him for acting like a girl. He doesn’t do a thing when Kenny lifts him to his feet, though, melting right into the hold of the boy.

Kenny stumbles when he does this, leaning his full weight into him almost immediately. Both of them end up immobilized and so they stand in the hallway, feeling more naked than they could ever be without clothing, one boy holding the other as the other can’t seem to stand alone.

“Come on,” Kenny grunts, helping him earn a steady footing. He barely does and he’s already being dragged to the office, but he finds himself going willingly, if only to stay in the arms of the boy for a second longer. His touch is comforting and warmer than the sun rays he’d thought of before. Instead, this feels like a fire, not burning through his skin but dancing upon it, lightening the world around it in a yellow and orange haze. His fingertips dig gently into his side, holding him steady in place and grounding him in a moment he desperately needs to be grounded into. The touch of skin against skin, just barely brushing as Kenny lifts his hand around his shoulders before it’s gone in an instant, sends his head soaring off into space, but it keeps his feet on the ground, and it’s an intense feeling. Almost too much, but he doesn’t pull away.

The nurse suggests sending him home, saying that he got sensory overload. After explaining what this was she sent Kenny back to his classroom, leaving him alone with the nurse in the blue and white room, the floor cold and the bed colder. He misses the touch of his friend but he does not yearn for it. He knows it’s not appropriate.

He begs the nurse not to be sent home. She doesn’t understand but she gives him a minute to cool off, and with that minute, he spends the rest of the day in classrooms, absolutely fine.

During lunch the next day he knows something is off. Neither Kenny nor Larry are very direct with him, but the both of them sit next to him, seemingly trying to impress him, or gain his favor.

By just letting them talk angrily to each other he figures out what happened. Apparently, Larry had stolen one of Kenny’s poems and won an award for it that Kenny had been wanting for a long time. It seemed a petty feud but to them, it was a matter of their friendship.

“You’d think a lifelong friendship would be more important than an award,” he says quietly, and they almost don’t catch it, but they do, and they stop. His words don’t do much in the moment but they both think on it, and it eventually leads to the problems settlement two days later.

“I was wondering if we could hang out at your house later today,” Kenny asks him, awkward and nervous as he sits down at the lunch table. It’s a bad idea. His room is blank. It’d raise questions. They’d move again.

He declines.

“We can’t really do anything at my house and Larry’s away for the weekend,” he adds quietly, playing with his food.

“I can’t,” he says simply, quietly, a whisper in Kenny’s ear, and he seems to understand, much to his relief.

“Then maybe we can see a movie together? Not like, together, but like, with each other, you know? Not as in we’re together, whatever that means.” He laughs in the most awkward way he’s ever heard.

He’s confused but he nods anyway, thinking it’d be a fun experience. It had been a while since he’d been to the movies, and as he agreed, he began rehearsing the many ways he could steal money from his parents.

He goes home after school for money but he knows the route back to Kenny’s house. He’s already waiting outside on the curb for him, reading a book. The sun is shining speckled through leaves and it illuminates the air a golden green, and it feels as though flowers surround him, though really it’s just fallen leaves. Whenever Kenny comes around his vision of the world grows brighter, and he’s heard of this before. A lot of people call it rose colored glasses, but the world isn’t rose, it’s yellow. It’s sunny, and it’s warm, and overall it’s more welcoming than any other place he’d been.

When Kenny notices him he smiles, and the world blossoms into a waterlily reaching the day’s first sunlight. His heart does funny things in its’ cavity but he ignores it, smiling back and walking with him.

“It’s, um, it’s not too far to downtown,” he comments after a moment of walking. Kenny’s hands are shoved into his pockets and his eyes are downcast, ignoring the world and shying away from the stare that he knows his penetrating. He still can’t help it. He can’t miss a moment.

When they reach the movie theater, Kenny doesn’t hesitate to buy the tickets. He knows that adults do this - if someone offers to take someone somewhere, the invitee pays, but it’s not custom among kids. He watches him pay, and he wonders if it was worth the hassle, waiting for his parents to leave the room to get a 20 dollar bill from his fathers’ wallet.

“I’d take you to see the new Batman movie but I promised Larry I’d see it with him,” Kenny says after he’s payed, leading him inside. He understands - he’s not a huge DC fan anyways. Instead, the pair watches some stupid indie movie that has them laughing and cringing at the same time, and has him holding his seat with white knuckles to brace for terrible lines. Kenny acts similarly, shutting his eyes tight whenever something embarrassing happens.

By the end, one of the characters ends up being gay.

They’re both silent exiting the theater. It’s the first time he’s seen a movie with a gay character. It was played out so normally, too - he never would’ve guessed the character was gay till he said something about his boyfriend.

“Weird movie,” Kenny comments when they’re walking down the sidewalk. He nods in agreement. Representation or not, it was a weird movie, and he would probably be happy if he went the rest of his life never watching it again.

Kenny looks equally uncomfortable, but for why he can’t discern. He doesn’t act that gay, he acts feminine, though that’s no reason to assume anything. Kenny being closeted would be a good reason as to his awkwardness, but there were plenty of other reasons. After all, he was silent, he hadn’t spoken a word basically the entire time, and it sometimes unnerves people.

“Ice cream?” He asks, gesturing with his shoulder to the ice cream place in front of them. Kenny agrees, and this time, he pays, insisting without word that he should in return for the movie tickets. Kenny tries to pay, multiple times, but he eventually gives up.

He orders vanilla, and Kenny orders chocolate, and it feels like a storybook. The night is warm, wind blowing through to chill, stars barely visible through the towns’ light but still there. In the back of the restaurant there’s a patio and a garden, and the two boys sit together in mostly quiet. He’s a slow eater but Kenny isn’t, and a moment after finishing Kenny can’t bear the silence. He begins talking, almost ranting, about anything that comes to mind, and through it all, he can decipher it, and he understands the clues Kenny didn’t mean to leave behind.

Eventually he turns into more private conversation, asking first, “where’d you get that scar?” and gesturing to his face.

He pulls his hand up to his face, fingers tracing the outline of the ridges. A while back he’d gotten scratched up bad after a fall, and he’d come into the house practically gushing blood, but his parents didn’t do anything. So he kept it clean and used a bandaid, the closest thing he had to a way of keeping it closed. Without medical help, there was no way to keep it from scarring, running from above his eyebrow to below his cheekbone, crossing his eye.

“Fell from a tree. Branch snagged me,” he explains, chuckling, and he doesn’t miss the way Kenny’s breath jumps, how his hands curl up into themselves but only slightly, stopping as soon as it starts. He tries not to show any reaction to what he’s noticed but it’s hard. His movements are easy indicators of nervousness and the quickened breath and blown out eyes signify attraction.

“Ouch,” he says in return, raising his own brows in surprise. He just laughs and nods, agreeing easily with the short statement.

Kenny starts talking about the movie, and he can feel his throat tighten up. He’s ranging into dangerous territory and they both know where it’s going, and neither of them know what the other knows. He talks about the characterization, and at the topics’ end he brings up the gay character.

“I didn’t even… I couldn’t tell he was gay,” Kenny says, his fingers trailing over the carved details of the wooden table. He watches closely, the way his wrist falls limp from his arm, allowing a more graceful touch. He wonders, for just a moment with his mouth dry, what it’d be like to have someone touch him like that.

“I think that was the point,” he says quietly, his eyes finally raising to meet his friends.

“Then again I don’t generally know when people are gay. I’m not gay so I don’t really… seek them out,” he says, and his fingers stop trailing, taking a slightly more manly stance by placing the palm flat on the surface. He has no way of telling if this is truth or fantasy, no way of knowing if it’s what Kenny believes or an actual lie. So he takes it at face value - he’s straight.

“I can’t tell when people are bisexual, so I don’t think sexuality has anything to do with it,” he says. His heart speeds up to match the speed of his thoughts, going a million miles an hour and hitting a wall when he realizes that there’s no way around this, no way of saying it was a joke, no way of saying that he hadn’t just come out as bisexual.

“You’re… um, you know… bisexual?” Kenny asks quietly, and his eyes are straight on his for the first time. They hold the contact for far longer than necessary, and he realizes this, and it’s at this point he realizes it’s not possible that Kenny’s all straight.

“Yeah.” He purses his lips together, nodding, breaking away from the gaze to stare at the ground, as though it’s a new way to hang your head in shame.

“That’s… cool,” Kenny says, and the conversation ends. They’re at a stand still, and even his thoughts are at a loss, so he grabs his empty ice cream carton and throws it away along with Kenny’s. He utters a small thank you and they leave the patio, back into the shop, waving good bye and heading out into the street.

It’s under street lamps, where they can’t even see the stars, where no one watches them, so private it feels too empty, that he speaks.

“You’re the first person I’ve come out to,” is what he says, the words constructed carefully in his head and sounding broken when they come out. They’re the same height, so there’s no looking up or down in the interaction, and for some reason it makes him uncomfortable.

Kenny doesn’t say anything but he grabs his hand, and pulls him close so that it’s hard to tell where they separate. The pressure of their hands together is light, he knows that, but it weighs heavy and meaningful in his palm. He can’t stop feeling every slight squeeze, every minute movement, can’t stop thinking about what it might mean, or how it good it feels to touch another person. They walk down the sidewalk like that, away from the eyes of others, far from the judgement of their parents. He’s never met Kenny’s parents but he has little desire to - in his world, parents aren’t a necessity.

At the first sign of a car driving down the road Kenny lets go of his hand. He doesn’t mind, it doesn’t get under his skin. He doesn’t let it. He looks away - he can’t let it.

They walk to Kenny’s house, as it’s closest to downtown, and it’s where they part. He’s reluctant and he can tell Kenny is too - the evening, while awkward and having a confession that wasn’t supposed to be there, was enjoyable.

“Thanks for tonight,” Kenny says, hands in his pockets now, safely away from his hands.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” he says, and he finds himself getting used to the sound of his own voice. He’s growing into it and it doesn’t feel hoarse or painful when it’s in use.

“I.. just…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, apparently unsure of what he was starting when he began. Again he speaks with touch and action, pulling him into a hug.

Their chests are pressed tight together and they breathe in unison, feeling too hot in the cool of night that settled in around them. Though Kenny’s arms are firmly around his shoulders, he hesitates before putting his own around the boys waist. He feels at home, and it’s simple, but it’s all he needs. For the second time he melts into the touch, burying his face into Kenny’s neck and breathing.

It’s over too soon but the feeling lingers on both of them, simply standing and looking at each other, wondering if the exhilaration would ever wear off, or if it’d fade into a purer emotion. He wonders if his heart will ever be still again. For the first time, he feels like he has all he needs.

So caught up in his own thoughts he pays little attention to the small gestures Kenny makes, but he comes back to himself when Kenny nods a good bye, and wordlessly the two part.

He doesn’t go home, not for a while, but when he does he takes his time. In darker areas he looks up, and in lighter ones he keeps his head down.

His home is silent as it has been for a long time, and tonight, like most nights, he can’t seem to care. This night is slightly different - he doesn’t feel weighed down as he walks into his empty room. If he were to stay here forever he’d be happy, and as he has this thought, his reality comes to him.

The longest he’d probably stay was a year.

The rest of the night he contemplated running away.

They’re nervous around each other, but that’s to be expected. They’re also more open, and while that isn’t expected, it’s nice, and he soaks up the intimacy like he’s starved for it. By all accounts he is and by the time he’s spent a few months being friends with Larry and Kenny he begins to realize that his life is not at all normal.

Larry’s parents talk to him. They talk about him when he’s not there. They criticize him and sometimes insult him but they say ‘I love you’ and they’re supportive. He’s met Kenny’s parents once and they seem nice enough - they certainly interact with their kid. He watches, like he’s a student studying the operations of a different species, and eventually both Kenny and Larry catch onto this behavior of his.

“We’ve never met your parents,” Larry brings up the topic easily, the three of them sitting together in his room doing homework.

“They’re busy,” he answers simply and quietly, not even bothering to look up. With any luck it’ll dismiss the conversation entirely.

He’s not that dumb. He knows what his life looks like to an outsider. At first glance it just looks lonely, but upon closer look it’s abusive. It’s neglectful and unstable, he hardly remembers his parents actual names, or his own last name. Despite this he doesn’t want people interfering. This life he has is all he knows but recently he’s learned more, and he’s not sure he wants what he’s had all his life anymore.

Still, it’s not an easy subject. He’s never actually told anyone before.

Larry scoffs.

“They can’t be so busy that they just don’t check in on you, _ever_.”

Kenny looks up, surprised, most likely thinking about how his friend has probably crossed a line.

“You can be honest,” Kenny says, his eyes suddenly softening, and Larry seems to understand the gravity of the situation. He’s discussing things that aren’t easily given up.

“I… don’t actually know.” His voice is hesitant. “I haven’t seem them in a few days.”

It’s not really the answer either of them want to hear but it’s all that comes to his mind. Still, being kind and aware in a way he usually isn’t, Larry keeps the conversation half normal, grounded in reality.

“Where are they then?”

“Dunno.”

It occurs to him at that point that it was very possible they up and left without him. They didn’t have many belongings, just renting places out that already had furniture.

“If they don’t come back you can stay with me,” Kenny suggests in that awkward voice of his, lilting and hesitant. He wants to glare at him but he can’t find it within himself so he just smiles, shrugs, and pays attention once more to his schoolwork.

It’s never said but the both of them grasp through the small dialogue shared, that his situation isn’t the best. That it’s very possible that one day, he will need help, and it’s not the kind of help solved by talking. The worry weighs on the two friends heavily but he pays no mind to it; he’s thought of it before. He knows what to do if he becomes homeless.

On a Thursday he sits in the classroom, not too far back, not too in the center, not too far next to the windows. He tries to pay attention but his mind drifts, and more often than not he finds himself looking out the window. It’s grassy outside, sunny, and the leaves are just preparing for autumn. A few have prematurely fallen, looking frail in their yellow green state, and he feels sympathy for them, though he knows it’s a stupid thing to feel.

Kenny’s sitting in the far front right, far away from him but he’s in his sights. Kenny has to look back to see him, but from the angle, he can just watch.

He tries not to. He knows it’s weird and he knows he shouldn’t, and he knows how obvious it is when he goes into that weird trance Kenny is so good at putting him into. At the end of class Kenny looks back, and he’s already looking at him, so he smiles. When the bell rings, Kenny waits for him, and he wonders why, but he doesn’t voice this curiosity.

“Hey,” Kenny says as the two of them head out to find Larry and go do their usual thing - sit together in a room and silently do homework till it’s time to have fun. He smiles, quick and gone in an instant. The energy feels drained out of him, all spent on worry and anxiety. He really doesn’t want to leave, and it’s the first time he’s felt like this.

“I noticed you staring at me,” Kenny says, and it’s not what he expects. It’s direct and forward in a way that he can’t handle, so he sputters out nonsensical vowels.

“Uh.. umm… sorry,” he finally says, unsure of what else to say. Was he supposed to apologize? What was Kenny expecting from him? He had no way of knowing. Maybe if he was more like his father he would know.

“Oh I don’t mind. I was just wondering why.”

He doesn’t have a normal answer. It’s because your hair is perfect, he wants to say. Because you’ve got the most striking eyes ever. Your skin is so soft. I wonder what our hands feel like pressed together for longer than a moment. It’s enrapturing watching your fingers tap a melody on the desk. I wonder what your lips feel like.

Never once has he let his eyes drift lower than allowed. He knows psychology well enough to know that staring at someones lips, for even a second will hint to romance, and it’s not something he’s prepared for. Because of this he doesn’t even have a hint as to what his lips feel like. He doesn’t even know what they look like.

“I thought I recognized your jacket,” he says instead of everything else.

“Oh.”

It’s not the answer he was expecting, but that’s alright, because the truth is too much for either to understand.

When he gets home that day his parents are in the house. They’re flitting around, packing what little items they own into boxes. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t bother, he knows he’ll be ignored. There’s no use for questions, they all know what’s happening. They’re moving again, and he feels rage but resignation boil up into his heart, crystallizing his blood into thick syrup. The only question left is why. He didn’t do anything wrong. Did his father get a new job? Does his mother hate the neighbors?

As soon as he enters he leaves. He goes back to Larry’s house and he’s not expected but for some reason Kenny is eating dinner with them, and they invite him to the table, though the father groans and the sister looks upset, the mother is happy to invite him in.

“I’m moving,” he says when he’s seated next to Larry. On the other side of Larry is Kenny, who can hear every word of their quiet conversation.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know.” Even he can tell the despondency in his voice is dripping. The voices of the table grow silent with the black tar of his speech, and he doesn’t want to put a downer on the whole family, so he wracks his brain for something to say. Something funny. Relatable. But he’s not relatable, he’s strange, and he’s fucked up. His mother used to call him that, but she doesn’t call him anything anymore, and now, he doesn’t care.

“It’s very good,” he compliments the food when he can find nothing in his head. She smiles pleasantly, but it doesn’t bring the previous mood back. He can feel the shame running through his body and he wishes he hadn’t ever come here.

“What the hell, man? You’ve only been here a few months and you’re moving already?” Larry asks when the three of them are safe in his room. He shrugs, and he feels the fear of using his voice slip further and further away the longer he thinks about being away from the stability that this family offered.

“Shortest I’ve ever stayed somewhere is two months,” he says, flopping onto the bed and staring at the ceiling.

“That’s terrible! Why do you move so much?”

“Stupid reasons, mostly.”

Larry is siting next to him, but Kenny’s in the corner, standing, looking half between anger and despair. Both of them notice Kenny’s state, worse than his own, which is odd, considering he’s not the one who’s moving.

“Ken? You okay?” Larry asks hesitantly, his voice cracking in it’s natural state.

“It’s not fair,” Kenny seems to blurt out, but he shakes his head, walking outside to who knows where. He and Larry look at each other, shrugging, both equally confused at the small outburst.

“I’ll…” he starts, but he doesn’t finish, instead just standing and walking out. Larry nods as he leaves, his brows furrowed in his questioning state.

He doesn’t find Kenny till they’re out of the house, and he’s walking to a local park a few blocks away. The sky is clear, so clear, but all he can see is the moon. It outshines all the stars, and he doesn’t care, only seeing the boy in front of him walking away.

“Kenny!” He calls, and he turns for a moment, but he keeps walking. He doesn’t make any move to run or walk faster, so he takes that as a good sign. Eventually he comes to a play structure, sitting on the slide, his elbows on his knees and looking deeply troubled. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know why Kenny seems to be so bothered by him going away, so he sits next to him on the small slide. Their thighs and shoulders are pressed tight together in the small space but neither shy away from the other.

“You can’t move,” Kenny says. They both know this statement is stupid. There’s no way of him avoiding the move unless he runs away, and he’d never willingly run away from a roof over his head.

“I can’t… I don’t have a choice,” he says.

“You could stay with me!”

He purses his lips together. In his hunched state he can look up at Kenny sadly, his hands knitted together. They both know he can’t do a thing.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“It’s not a bother, my parents would understand.”

There’s a streetlamp near them and every now and then flickers. It glows gold, and it makes Kenny look warmer than he already is, and he just wants to stick his face into his chest. He wants to be wrapped up, he wants to wrap Kenny up and hug him, and tell him everything will be alright. He wants a lot of things.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, hoping to convey what he feels. It’s a painful understatement, but he still feels too fragile to speak the truth. He needs to say so many things, he knows it’ll be just a few days before he’s gone. It never takes long for his parents to pack up. He needs to tell him how much the past few months have meant, how safe Kenny has made him feel, how secure he feels in a place where he doesn’t really have a home. He can’t though, he knows this, Kenny doesn’t. He just thinks they’re friends.

“You could stay in the basement and I could bring you food,” Kenny jokes, but they both know that if he were to say yes, Kenny would agree.

“You’re safe,” he says, and he feels the color drain from his face. He wasn’t supposed to say that. He meant to say nothing at all, but it came out anyway, from deep in his subconscious, the words not even forming on his tongue. It comes out like a prerecorded message. Kenny stops, and his eyes widen, his mouth parting just barely in the way that makes him want to kiss him softly on the cheek.

The moon is shining above, so brightly it outshines all the other stars but neither of the boys are paying attention to that. Kenny’s eyes are shining brighter than the brightest moon, and his cheeks are redder than the colors of autumn, and he doesn’t know what to think. They’re so close he can feel the boys breath against his skin and it intoxicates him.

Neither want to make a move, whether it’s to pull away or to push in. So he does what he hasn’t allowed himself to do, and he looks down at Kenny’s lips. They look soft - they’re plush and dark against the rest of his skin, a red that blends well with him. They’re still parted, just barely, and in the moment he takes to admire them he doesn’t notice Kenny move in.

When they kiss his eyes are open, but they sink slowly to close, and he can feel tears prick at his eyes. They burn now, open too long from taking in the beauty of the boy in front of him. When they shut a tear runs down his cheek and lands on Kenny’s. His lips feel like a miracle has graced them, and though he’s never allowed himself the pleasure of thinking of it, it’s everything he’s dreamed of. And it almost burns when he presses further in, electrifying every nerve in his body and he stumbles, chasing after a longer kiss when Kenny tries to pull away in shame.

“I - I’m sorry,” Kenny stutters, his voice uncontrolled and the volume a little too loud. He stands, his footing unstable and his hands out to balance himself. Kenny seems to freeze, unsure of what he’s really doing, and he can relate.

He stands with him, rests a hand on his cheek, makes the boy face him, and he leans in once more. This time, the kiss feels like warm chocolate is melting across his lips, and when he moves it feels like heaven incarnate.

He can’t see the moon, and he can’t see the park. He can’t see the woman staring from the nearby house judgingly, and he can’t see the man across the park who knows just what it’s like to be closeted and kissing in the privacy of midnight.

Kenny leans into him this time, his hands confused but at home on his upper arms. His hands are settled on Kenny’s cheeks, and it feels too right to leave.

As he pulls away he can’t even start to imagine what it’d be like without him. Back in the closet, without someone to consider safe, without a single friend. He comes back to his senses and he feels tears when the wind blows by, marking them cold on his cheeks. In a moment he understands why Kenny apologized originally - he’s practically sobbing. His hand raises to wipe them away, and Kenny helps, wiping the other cheek dry.

Kenny’s not crying, but he looks right on the verge of it. Like he’s holding it down, like it’s painful to breath without letting it go.

“I’m… gonna miss you,” Kenny says, and he struggles to get the words out. He’s choking on them, that and the redness in his eyes giving away his state of mind.

“I’ll come back, when I’m 18,” he promises. It’s not an empty promise. He’s never made a promise before, so he’s never gotten the chance to break one, and he’d never break a promise like this.

“That’s pretty far off.”

“Better than never, yeah?”

When he goes home he submits himself to silence again. Whenever he feels the urge to speak to himself, to hum a tune, to think a thought too deep he pinches the skin of his stomach, right at the sensitive area, leaving red marks all over.

The next day, Kenny’s depressed but he wasn’t as bad as he was the night before. Larry asks him if he has a phone number, but he doesn’t. It’s too expensive for his parents tastes, and he doesn’t have an email address either. Still, in a desperate attempt to not lose track of each other, he and Kenny give each other their full names and addresses, just in case the other comes looking.

His relationship with him isn’t solid, not at all, but it’s more real than anything else he’s felt.

On the day he’s set to leave, he sits down with Kenny. He has things to say, far too many to cram into the thirty minutes he has, so he sticks to the essentials.

“I want you to forget about me for the next few years, till I come back. Live your life like I was never here,” he says, and it’s not an order Kenny understands, but he agrees anyway. It’s for his own good. If he hadn’t asked this of him, knowing Kenny, he would probably try and stay loyal to him, and that’d lead to guilt when someone new came along.

“If someone new strikes your fancy, don’t be afraid. I’m just glad to be your friend. Take care of Larry, and take care of yourself.” He lists them off like orders. “You’ll need to come out at some point but don’t push yourself. Stay true to who you are.” The words feel bittersweet on his tongue when he says them, but he doesn’t regret saying, “I’ll miss you. A lot.”

“Your parents are awful,” is all Kenny says in reply, and it pulls a laugh from the pair, and when they settle down, Kenny grows more serious.

“I’ll miss you too,” he says.

To his own relief and disappointment he never found another person like Kenny. It was good that he never grew so emotionally attached like he had, but it was lonely. He never spoke, hadn’t in years, and his parents told teachers he was medically a mute. That he physically couldn’t. It was a lie, like all the other things his parents told people.

Life doesn’t grow easier for him but he becomes accustomed to it. He teaches himself that his life isn’t normal because no one is there to make him learn, so he forces himself to. Parents should support their children. They should have a home that lasts longer than a year. Stability is the norm. Love is the norm. Not the life his parents gave him.

When at last he realizes that he doesn’t need to stay, that he can leave, that it’s legal and the only thing stopping him is him, he leaves. He doesn’t tell his parents, and he takes one of their cars, packed up with nothing but him, some money, and the Lord of the Rings binder he’d kept.

The only reason they find him again is because of the stolen car. It’s the first time in years that they talk to him, and it’s not a pleasant experience.

“Why would you run out on your own family?!” His mother screeches when they’ve found him. You’ve never been my family, he thinks, but he doesn’t say.

“If you ever take our car again I’ll beat your ass!” His father yells, pointing vindictively at him. Good luck catching me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say.

“Come back home!” They scream in unison.

“I am going back home,” he says, and he walks away, a flimsy backpack on his shoulders. They don’t even try to stop him, and he doesn’t turn around when he hears the doors of the car slamming and the engine sputtering away down the road.

With the money he has he buys a map, and he circles the town he needs to return to. He hopes beyond hope that Kenny’s still there, but he doesn’t know for sure. After all, it’s been a few years. For the next few days he spends his time hitchhiking and jumping out of strangers cars when they start acting creepy. He starts wondering why there’s such an inordinate amount of weird people on abandoned highways, but he can’t answer his own question by the time he finds his town again.

He knows the address, it’s in his book, but he hardly needs to look at it. The paths, though it had been so long since he’d seen them, felt familiar. He knew the place, and seeing the two homes next to each other felt like he belonged there. It’s in the dead of summer, and the heat is sweltering, but he pays it little mind. It doesn’t get under his skin.

In the window of Larry’s house he sees the two of them arguing, but the debate seems almost comical as the two of them are both smiling.

He knocks on the door. It’s answered by Dave, who seems to think he’s selling something.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want it,” the father says, turning to close the door.

“Sir, wait, I’m here to see your son. We were friends a while back,” he says, his hand on the door in a meager attempt to keep it open. Dave looks him up and down with a critical eye but nods, letting him in. He yells in a crude way to his son, who comes trampling down the stairs, trailed by Kenny.

They’ve grown, to the point where both of the two friends are taller than him. He’s not sure he likes it, but the feeling of seeing them again overshadows any other thoughts he has.

“Oh my God,” Kenny says, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in that way he always used to do. He can’t help but laugh - it’s familiar. Nothing is ever familiar.

“You’re back!” Larry says, but the words barely make it to his ears before Kenny is hugging him, leaning down and burying his face into his shoulder.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Kenny says quietly, and he notices that Dave has left the room with a grumble. Larry hugs him next once Kenny pulls reluctantly away.

“What about your parents?” Larry asks when the three of them have settled in the living room. His voice has changed fully, and he’s grown into himself. He’s a big guy, muscular with a rounded face but deep eyes. Kenny on the other hand has grown taller, only slightly more muscular, but overall bigger and sharper. His jawline now looks like it could cut glass, and his eyes dig into his very being. His hair isn't a clean cut anymore, it's messy and falls on his forehead, and it's beautiful.

“I left them. Hitched a few rides to get here,” he explains, telling them how lucky he was that he wasn’t all the way across the country. As he and Kenny continue to look at each other, with spared glances to Larry, in his grown maturity he seems to understand that the two of them need a moment of quiet. He excuses himself, saying he’ll get a movie and some popcorn started, for old times sake.

“How have the years treated you?” He says, like he’s an old man meeting a friend from childhood after fifty plus years. It makes them both chuckle, but Kenny answers.

“Alright. A lot’s happened. I got kicked out of the house when I came out,” Kenny says, and he’s about to say something but Kenny continues. “But they welcomed me back after like six weeks, so that’s cool. And uh… I got a boyfriend but it didn’t last more than a few months. We’re still friends.”

“I’m happy for you. Things are good then?”

“Yeah, actually. They are.” Kenny looks at him, sincerity pumping out of his heart, staring at him like it’s not the events of his life making him happy but that it’s his return. He swallows thickly, wondering absently to himself if Kenny still feels the same, but all his doubts are numbed by the feeling of Kenny’s hand against his. The skin is rougher than it was years ago, but it’s still warm and sunny.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, and he realizes how close they’re sitting together. Neither shy back.

“You said you would,” Kenny jokes.

“You said you would too.”

When they kiss he knows what it’s like to be home after a long time. The sense of familiarity is almost too strong to handle but he does it anyways, if only to feel the touch of the boy for a moment longer.

He's safe now, enraptured in his kiss.

He's home.

**Author's Note:**

> hopeyouenjoyedpleaseleaveacomment


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